


As the Sunset Fades

by Cloudnine101



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Love, Brothers, Dark, Gen, Heartache, Inspired by Poetry, Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 09:14:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3321995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudnine101/pseuds/Cloudnine101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“For here the ancient mother lingers<br/>To dip her hands in the diamond dew,<br/>And lave thine ache with cloud-cool fingers<br/>Till sorrow die from you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	As the Sunset Fades

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Shakespeare's Sonnet 73. Poetry from 'Mystery', by George William Russel.

_The tremulous lips of air blow by me_

_And hymn their time-old melody:_

_Its secret strain comes nigh and nigh me:_

_“Ah, brother, come with me."_

 

The laptop grows brightly, in front of Dean. He blinks at it, trying to decipher the words - they merge into one, a messy swarm of lines. They seem to have meaning, out of the corner of his eye; but when he turns his attention to any one section, they disintegrate, blurring into a heated jumble. Glaring at it, Dean picks up his bottle, and takes a - fourth? Fifth? - swig. The liquid burns his throat - makes his head spin, his body tingle.

"You ain't doing that right, you know."

Dean chuckles, grimly; before him, the man's figure twitches, as he settles into the chair. "I think I know how to drink, Sammy."

"Not the drinking. The searching." Sam's voice is soft; painfully soothing, on Dean's spent nerves. "You're too tired, Dean. You should get some rest."

"Not until I find what I'm looking for." Dean clicks onto another tab, randomly. It doesn't do any good; something about incantations, in Latin. Dean stopped caring half an hour ago. "I need this. I can fix it."

"Dean," Sam says, words strung taut, leaning forwards, "it's not gonna-"

"I've gotta try." Dean takes another gulp; it burns, but it sends out the right message, he figures, as he slams it on top of a book. Conversation over. Sam seems to realise; he sits back, half-slumping into the seat.

"Fine. Do what you want. It won't help."

Dean's head snaps up. "No. It will. I was talking to Cas, before. He says that if we find-"

"Don't you think Castiel's got his own problems?" Dean flinches, turning away from the words - but Sam ploughs right on ahead. "He doesn't need yours, too."

"Ours. Our problems." And Dean waits - waits for Sam to reply in the affirmative. Everything's going to be alright - everything's going to be fine - they're going to sort it out, because they're Winchesters. They're brothers. That's what they do - they pick each other back up, when they fall down. That's what family is.

Sam shakes his head - once, only once. That's enough. That's all it takes. Dean sucks in oxygen, through gritted teeth, as Sam says, very, very quietly: "Not our problems. Yours."

And Dean's heartbeat's climbing, and his breathing's going faster and faster and faster, and the anger's boiling, turning his skin to lava, seething over his bones, and there's a creature in his stomach, and it's digging in his fangs, and he can't hold on-

"Sam," Dean says - and looks towards him, the place he'd been sitting seconds before.

There is no Sam. Sam is gone.

Dean buries his face in icy hands, and fractures.

 

_“For here the ancient mother lingers_

_To dip her hands in the diamond dew,_

_And lave thine ache with cloud-cool fingers_

_Till sorrow die from you."_


End file.
